If You Can Still Remember
by Primadonna-Girl-With-Bubblegum
Summary: A young Christine has an encounter with Erik, at a most unexpected place. A few years later, they meet again, this time at the opera. Will they remember each other? E/C, of course. Maybe some Raul-bashing, not sure yet...
1. Chapter 1

**Don't own anything. Reviews means the world to me…**

I

People always told Christine Daaé to be more of a sociable person than she really was. They told her not to hold back her inner personality, but to let it out and make it shine, to finally show the world what she _really _was, a cruel thing to say to a twelve –years-old girl.

Christine had nothing to show them. No inner personality, nothing she could let out, trim to perfection and let shine. All she had was a mouth she rarely spoke with, a pair of ears she used constantly (for trying to hear what people said about her), and a nose she didn't care about. She had her body, the only thing she could use for getting money later on; from the ballet chorus, of course (what did you think it was?).

She had always thought her life would be an endless stair of steps; grow and measure into a young woman, work as a ballerina until she collapsed with exhaustion, and die here, on the opera.

Apparently, fate had other planes for her.

This was what she thought of, funny enough, when she stood in Madame Giry's small office. Her hands were carefully folded on her back, but they trembled. Her eyes focused on a small grope in the wall, just above Madame Giry's head, but they were filled to the brim with tears. Her mouth was carefully closed, as if afraid to say something wrong, and her ears heard no sound.

"I'm sorry, child." Madame Giry told her gently. "I actually think it best if you leave this opera for… a while…"

Christine closed her eyes. A lonely tears streamed down her cheek. "What will I tell Mamma Valerius?" Christine was surprised how her voice could sound so strong and confident.

"Tell her the truth." Madame Giry's voice was still gentle. "Tell her you couldn't manage this life. Tell her you were tired of this and missed her." Christine's eyes met Madame Giry's brown eyes. "I could _never _get tired of this, and Mamma Valerius knows so very well! She is not stupid!"

Madame Giry's gaze travelled to a photograph on her wall. Christine didn't look at it, but she knew perfectly what the photograph pictured; a young girl dressed in a white ballet tutu; Christine had looked at it far more times than she could count, always dreaming of herself in a tutu like that.

Now that dream would never come true.

"Then tell her the truth, and do not lie," said Madame Giry hesitantly. "Tell her I thought it best for you to leave the opera, tell her that…"  
"Do Madame think that... that it would be best for me to leave the opera?" choked Christine.

Madame Giry nodded slowly. "I am very sorry, my dear. You are not fitted for this life, and it is not fitted for you. I will order a carriage for you, my girl. Go pack your belongings, and do not…" She paused, unsure of what to say. "I am very sorry, Christine."

This was the first time Madame Giry ever had called Christine by her given name, and probably the last one, too.

"All right. I will go pack my belongings." Christine tried to be strong, Madame Giry could see, but when she left the room, they young girl's shoulders were slumped like an old woman, who had long ago given up in this life.

_-o-_

Christine's roommates were on a rehearsal; their beds were empty, blankets carelessly sprawled on the beds. Christine's teeth slowly sunk into her lower lip, as she tried to think of the best way to pack her little belongings. After a while, she decided she would fold her clothes in her sheets, and then take her hat and smaller things in the only box she owned.

As Christine opened the girl's wardrobe, tears threatened to fall on her cheeks. She didn't mind them; tears felt as a welcome companion now. She let them stream down her face, wishing the tears could wash away everything that had happened today.

Christine folded her four dresses in the sheet, just as she had planned. Her dresses was nothing posh; one dull, gray cotton dress that was much too big on her, it had been given to her by Madame Giry when she first came to the opera, a little finer green dress, a white dressing-gown and a long nightgown. She only owned one pair of shoes, and she would wear them during the carriage ride to Mamma Valerius house in Bordeaux. Mamma Valerius lived in Paris most of her time, but she had a small apartment in Bordeaux where she would go every now and then. Christine thought it was because it reminded her of her home in Stockholm.

Christine picked down the only hat she owned and placed it on her head. It was an old fashioned straw hat that had belonged to Christine's grandmother, long ago out of style. The hat had always been an item for teasing among the other ballet girls; they came from better families, and could afford new hats. She dressed herself in the gray dress, tied her Pointe shoes loose, and folded the silk ribbons carefully, deciding that she would bring them with her as a reminder of the life she had left. The life she would never return to.

And this was the first time she ever heard the voice.

It was a man's voice – no, an angel's voice. It sang about heaven and God, angels and a blue sky, and Christine was sure she never had heard something as beautiful.

But the voice was gone before she even had time to think about it.

_-o-_

Christine sat on her bed, waiting for Madame Giry to knock at the door and tell her the carriage waited. The room was still empty, it always was at twelve o' clock in the day, as the younger ballet rats had their rehearsals at this time. By now, they were probably getting a scolding from monsieur Reyer for their giggling, something Christine had always found very irritating, but today realized she would miss when away from the theatre.

The clock at the wall stroked one with lazy, muffled beats, and still, Christine didn't move. She waited in silence, watching the dust soar around in the room, bathing in a strange golden light Christine knew belonged to the sun. She did not cry, nor did she smile. Her expression was perfectly blank; her blue eyes staring at nothing, her ears only heard the laughter from the corridor, her eyes only saw the dust in the golden light, and her nose could only smell the suffocating smell of sweat and dust.

Exactly when the clock placed itself at half past two, a knock sounded at the door. Christine raised herself up, took a careful grip at her sheet, and opened the door. Outside stood Madame Giry, waiting with an impatient expression.  
"Come on, Christine," said she, helping Christine with the sheet. "The carriage is waiting for you."

Christine nodded, unable to say anything, and started walking down the steep stairs that always made her dizzy, even more so today. Nausea was rising in her throat, and Christine fought against the sour liquid that threatened to release itself from her small body.

Before she knew it, Madame Giry had led her out from the theatre. The sun shone hard in Christine's eyes and threatened to burn them.

Christine was silent; afraid that if she talked she would start crying. The carriage was waiting for her down the marble stairs. It was nothing posh, just an ordinary carriage with two brown horses. The driver was young, but not handsome with his big eyes and too small nose. Nonchalantly leaning against the carriage, he gave Madame Giry a nod. He helped Christine placing her belongings in the carriage, before taking a hold on her waist and quickly lifting her up into the seat. Madame Giry made a run-up to take out her money, but Christine shook her head.  
"Mamma Valerius will pay," she said. "You've done enough."

And as the carriage disappeared, Madame Giry suddenly regretted her decision.  
"Wait!" she shouted, chasing after the black spot. "Wait, Christine! Come back! I've changed my mind! You can stay as long as you want, it doesn't matter with…"

But the carriage was gone, and Madame Giry's only audience was a limp woman, drinking from a bottle with some orange liquid that smelled of vomit.  
"Bad luck," the woman snorted, shaking her greasy hair out of her eyes. "The girl won't com' back, ye know…"

Never had Madame Giry wished to punch somebody as much as she did now.

_-o-_

The carriage ride was long and dull. When they drove through Nantes, it started to rain. The driver stopped and pulled the black soft top over her head. Christine tried to protest.  
"You don't have to." She said. "It is unnecessary that the soft top gets wet because of me. Save it fore some other passenger."  
The driver gave her a strange look. "Can't have you get wet, _fille_." He clumsily patted her hand, before placing himself at the drivers seat. He gave the horses a smack with his whip, and once again they pulled away.

The driver's clumsy gesture, the pat on her hand, was enough to make tears spring from her eyes. It was a long time ago someone had cared about her, actually cared, and that simple gesture was enough to make her feel like a human being.  
Of course, Madame Giry had been kind to her, but since she had thrown Christine out of the theatre, Christine didn't feel like she could be counted. Hate, violent and black, swarmed into her mind at the thought of the ballet mistress.

She didn't want Christine anymore.

No one wanted her anymore.

_-O-_

In Bordeaux, the sun shone with merciless rays, so strong the driver told Christine not to pull the soft spot off – the sun would burn her.

Christine had never seen something like Bordeaux before. Mamma Valerius had told her lots of things about Bordeaux, but when Christine saw it for herself, she didn't feel like Mamma Valerius had made the azure blue sea and the white houses justice.

The driver took a byway to Mamma Valerius apartment; instead of driving through the city's nicer parts, he drove on a bigger road by the sea. Christine's eyes were wide with wonder; never in her life had she seen something like this! It truly was a big city, though not as big as Paris, with a very varied structure and architecture. In the nicer parts of the city, there were big houses that looked like they could swallow Christine whole. In those parts, ladies and gentlemen walked around, all dressed in clothes that would cost Christine ten years of saving to buy. In the poorer parts of the city there was workers, beggars and prostitutes, just like in Paris.

Before Christine knew it, they were at Mamma Valerius apartment.

"Do you need help with your luggage?" asked the driver Christine. Christine shook her head, took a grip on her sheet and carefully stepped down from the carriage, with a little help from the driver.

"Thank you," said Christine. "When mamma Valerius comes out, she will pay you."  
The driver nodded. "Alright."  
Christine gave the house she stood by a curious glance. It wasn't something very posh; it was white, like every else house in Bordeaux, with a lot of windows, meaning that many people lived there.

And suddenly, as Christine still glanced at the big house, a red-faced Mamma Valerius stood beside her.

**Sorry for the cliffy…**

**First review – a cookie and a glass of O' boy…**


	2. Chapter 2

**And the lucky winner of a glass of O' Boy and a cookie (virtual, I'm afraid…) is…**

**Hugabouv! Congratulations, dear *virtual hugs* Thank you everyone for your lovely reviews 3**

**Oh, yeah… Sorry for not updating in a while, but I've been busy with school L I actually scored top marks at Geography, so I'm satisfied and decided I wanted to update…**

**Still don't own anything…**

II

"Christine, my little darling!" shrieked Mamma Valerius in her strongly accented French. "What are you doing here?" Mamma Valerius swept her arms around Christine's body, and soon, Christine found herself hanging in the air.

"What are you doing here, _min ängel?_" asked Mamma Valerius again. The Swedish nickname she always had called Christine brought tears to the young girl's eyes, as Mamma Valerius warily sat Christine down on the ground again, giving her such a fond gaze Christine for a moment thought she was worth something.  
Christine was just about to answer Mamma Valerius question, when the driver awkwardly cleared his throat.  
"Sorry for interrupting," said the driver, scratching the back of his head, "but I need to drive back to Paris now and…"  
Mamma Valerius started digging in the pocket of her apron. "Oh yes, of course. Forgive me. How much?"  
"'twill be forty francs for the journey."  
Mamma Valerius visibly paled at this statement and for a while, Christine was afraid she might not have the money and had to send Christine back, but Mamma Valerius finally got up her purse and handed the said money to the driver without a word of protest escaping her lips. "There. Hope your journey to Paris passes without any accidents."  
The driver nodded. "Thank you, Madame." He jumped up at the drivers seat, gave the horses a smack with his whip and pulled away.  
As they watched the driver become smaller and smaller, and then disappear entirely, Mamma Valerius placed an arm around Christine's shoulders.  
"Let's go inside, darling." She gave the sky above her a scanning gaze. "It will probably be a storm tonight."

_-o-_

Mamma Valerius apartment was placed at the fifth floor of the building. It was not big; a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom and a small chamber; but Christine thought it was nice enough. It was clean, not a single crumb of dust could be spotted at the worn carpets, with no lice or mice, which was a nice change from the opera, where the girl's room had been occupied with lice and almost every single one of the ballet rats had lice living in their hairs.  
Mamma Valerius removed her coat, placed it on a chair beside her, and helped Christine lift her luggage into the bedroom, which had a nice view over the city. Mamma Valerius gave a delighted sigh and looked at Christine with such a focused glance Christine blushed.  
"Poor darling," she muttered, "looking like she's been beaten everyday…" She shook her head and gave Christine's hair a suspicious gaze. "Do you have any lice, darling?" Christine blushed.  
"I think so, Mamma…" Mamma Valerius shook her head.  
"Didn't they ever comb out lice at the opera?"  
"Madame Giry used to comb a few girl's hair, but I don't think they had any lice, she always did it before performances, you see…"  
"Well," said Mamma Valerius, "then it's time for me to comb lice out of your hair, right now. But first, you need something to drink, you look like you've seen a ghost…"  
She placed Christine at a chair in the kitchen, and started warming some milk at the stove. Christine hugged her knees to her chest, as she watched Mamma Valerius hum under her breath. Mamma Valerius wasn't exactly how she remembered her from the journey over the sea, which maybe wasn't very hard to understand. Christine had been barely four years old, and her memory was battered, because it was almost eight long years ago. Mamma Valerius had been a young girl, barely adult enough to be called woman, at seventeen years. She had been travelling with her husband Gustav, barely one month after their wedding, searching a new life beyond the horizon. Now Gustav was dead. Christine couldn't remember much of him, only that he had nice brown eyes and a warm smile, and that he smelled like coal, but that was it. Mamma Valerius, however, she had remembered as a beautiful young girl with cheeks like apples and eyes like the ocean. She remembered that she would sing songs for her every night, accompanied by her father's violin. She also remembered how Mamma Valerius loved to comb Christine's brown curls, and used to tell her papa how jealous she was of the curls; she herself had long, perfectly straight, blonde hair.

As Christine watched her now, she realized that her memory probably had made Mamma Valerius more beautiful than she was in real life. She no longer had those apple cheeks; her cheeks now were hollow. Mamma Valerius was around twenty-five-years old now. No wrinkles covered her face, she still had the long blond hair, and her expression was not as she had remembered it. At the ship over the ocean, Mamma Valerius had always looked like she'd been waken up from a dream, always those dreamy blue eyes wide staring at whatever came in her way, and she bore the look now also.

Christine was interrupted in her thoughts, when a cold comb rooted itself in her scalp. Christine gave a howl of surprise, and Mamma Valerius, taking this as a howl of pain, gave a pained wince. "I am so very sorry, dear heart, but this has got to be done. Now," she said, changing the subject completely, "what happened at the opera? I thought you liked it there. So many different styles of art, fascinating, you used to tell me so. Why a so sudden desire to leave?"  
Christine found her throat engraved with a clump of hot tears. "I didn't want to leave." She whispered in a tremolous voice. Mamma Valerius suddenly paused with the comb, kneeled beside Christine and gave her a wondering glance. "Then why in the world did you leave?"  
"Because… Because Madame Giry told me to." Whispered Christine, tears now streaming down her cheeks. "She said that I couldn't become a ballerina, said I wasn't good enough…"  
Mamma Valerius gasped. "She did? Is this true?" Christine nodded.  
"Yes," she sniffed. "She also said that I should tell you I was tired of the theatre…"  
By now, Mamma Valerius was crimson from fury in her sweet face. "That little bitch!" she cursed under her breath. "That _damn little bitch_! She can't just do that! I've seen you dance! You looked like a sweet angel! _That damn bitch!_"

She threw the comb away, not caring where it landed (which happened to be in a nice old bowl, which instantly broke).  
"I'm going to kill her," she growled, pushing her blond hair out of her face. "I'm going to _kill _her! That idiot! And how are you supposed to get education now? What will you work with? What if you end up a prostitute?"  
Christine gasped, eyes filled to the brim with tears. "_Mamma!_"  
Mamma Valerius stopped pacing and gave Christine a sad glance. "I'm sorry about that, love. Of course you won't end up a prostitute. I bet you'll end up as a princess…"  
"I'm too big for tales like that, Mamma."  
"Yes, of course," sighed Mamma Valerius. She picked up the comb, not caring about the broken bowl, and went over to Christine. She started combing her hair again, this time a little more rougher than the last.  
"I can't understand how she could do this," she sighed. "One day, I'll walk into her nice little office and demand to know why." She gave Christine a sad, but fond glance. "You would have it much better at the theatre. I'm not exactly rich, you know…"  
Christine gave a wet smile. "I don't care about that. I just want to be with you, Mamma."  
And then, despite herself, Mamma Valerius smiled too.

**Once again, sorry about the long wait. First review; a kiss from Erik. Who can resist?**

Oh, by the way; if you're a fan of Les Misérables, please check out my story **_The Silver Hour_****. Thanks!**


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